


Exactly How the Force Works: A Semi Serious Study of Sympathetic Reactions in Force Sensitive Individuals

by dietplainlite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Force Bond, Reylo if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Force Bond between allies makes them unstoppable in battle.  A Force Bond between enemies leads to immeasurable inconveniences.</p><p>Rey has a few too many and takes Kylo along for the ride. </p><p>Inspired by this tumblr post  http://the-reylo-void.tumblr.com/post/145085951842</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exactly How the Force Works: A Semi Serious Study of Sympathetic Reactions in Force Sensitive Individuals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bittersnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/gifts), [Anysia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anysia/gifts).



> There's a very good chance I will turn this into a series of vignettes dealing with not so angsty Force Bond things. But for now it's a one shot.

It is a widely held assumption that Kylo Ren has no experience with vice of any kind. That assumption is , for the most part, wrong. He has been drunk a handful of times. Han Solo being the type to celebrate milestone birthdays with alcohol. The smuggler also had a downright nostalgic love for Corellian whiskey. His son had played along gamely, unwilling to disappoint his father, but he’d never enjoyed the lack of control. (It’s another widely held assumption that Kylo Ren gets off on losing his temper and destroying things.  That assumption is wrong.)

Consequently, one of the things he enjoyed about being sent off with Luke Skywalker was that the Jedi Master abstained from mind altering substances, though he had young Ben use them in training, in order to learn how to detoxify his body using the Force.

But as Kylo Ren lays on the floor of the ‘fresher in his command shuttle, he’s faced with the horrifying fact that one can’t detoxify if the body that’s intoxicated is someone else’s, and that body is countless light years away.

It had completely snuck up on him. She’d been undetectable for weeks, managing to keep her walls up and her Force presence small even in sleep.  Admittedly, it had been a welcome relief from the constant stream of sensation and emotion. It seemed that Luke Skywalker was _still_ incapable of teaching his apprentices to control their emotions.

Though well aware of each other’s location, they’d come to a wary truce, Rey knowing she’d be unlikely to defeat him again without proper training and Kylo reluctant to mount a full offensive for…various reasons, though his official reasons are strategic.

As he sat in the passenger compartment of his command shuttle, on a routine mission to root out a sect of the Church of the Force, the text on his data pad blurred. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but the text remained indecipherable.

As he focused on the screen, his grip on the data pad relaxed and his entire body went dangerously loose.   He prodded his face with his gloved hand, then ripped the glove off to poke at it with his bare fingers.

“What?” he said, to no one, and then, to his horror, began to _giggle_.

It wasn’t until he hiccupped that it hit him. He was intoxicated.

At first, he assumed he’d been drugged. It’s a danger, in his position.  But he hadn’t consumed any food or liquid in hours.  Perhaps it was coming through the life support system?

The intercom button is only an arm’s length away but it takes him several tries to press it.

“FN-2384 is um…is everything okay up there?”

“Yes, sir.  Estimated time to the Arkanis Sector is 2.5 hours.”

“Good, yeah.  Thanks,” he said, releasing the button and lying on his back.

He focused on ridding his body of the toxin but he couldn’t locate anything to eject.

Another wave of euphoria sent him into a gale of laughter and for a moment he saw a tavern, probably somewhere on Coruscant.  A brief flash of the traitor and the Resistance pilot.  The burn of whiskey down his throat.

Kylo was not the one who was drunk.

It was Rey.

Somewhere in the galaxy, she was having a grand time with her treacherous friends and had let her guard down. In the months since the unfortunate forging of the bond between them he’d felt her pain on occasion, but had never been this in tune with her from a physical standpoint.  And now it was compromising his mission.

Clearly something needed to be done.  But what?

He rubbed his hand across his face and stood. Clearly they must delay the mission.  He’d tell them…he’d tell them… Kriff what would it matter? He was in charge.

He strode to the cockpit, cursing at how a ride could be so bumpy in hyperspace, and after a couple of tries, slid the door open using the Force.

The pilots turned in surprise.  

“We’re turning around,” he barked. “Mission aborted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he said, turning to go.

At least _these_ soldiers knew their place. So loyal. Unquestioning.  Unwavering.  Consumed with the urge to express his gratitude, he whirled back around, catching himself from stumbling with a hand on each of their shoulders.  Both pilots stiffened.

“FN-2384, FN 7498,” he said, with a pat on their respective shoulders. “I don’t say this enough, but, you’re both excellent pilots.  So good. Thank you for your loyalty.  You’re…” he sniffed, his eyes burning.  “You’re…. Thank you for staying.  You’re the best, okay? I mean that.”  A choked sob escaped as he swiped at his eyes, turning to go.  He stumbled back to the passenger cabin, where he slumped onto one of the padded benches, head in his hands.

Great. He’d wager five hundred credits there would be a medical droid waiting for him when they got back to the _Finalizer_.

Damn that scavenger. 

He straightened. What if it was all a ploy? Rey getting drunk on purpose just to make him more vulnerable, to dive into his head and find all his secrets.

Before he could follow that line of thought, the first wave of nausea hit and he barely made it to the ‘fresher before emptying his guts.

So, not a ploy, just an ill-advised overindulgence. 

The ‘fresher floor was cool and smooth so he’d stretched out with his cheek against the tile, and now he’s reluctant to move.

One would think that someone like Rey would be able to hold her liquor, but maybe it was hard to come by in that hell scape where she grew up. He groans as his stomach tightens again.

  _For the love of everything, please take a hangover blocker before you go to sleep._

He’s not sure if she’ll catch it, but it’s worth a shot. They’ve communicated this way before, mostly to tell the other one to sod off, but it’s about as reliable as a decades-old comlink.

 _Don’t tell me what to do_.

_You’re supposed to be a Jedi, and I take better care of my body than you do. What’s the point of a body like that if you’re going to wreck it?_

_Sod_ _off!_

For a moment his head clears and his stomach stops roiling.  But before he can fully rejoice it hits him again, stronger than before. He heaves himself up on his knees in front of the toilet.

_Rey, has he taught you anything at all about fighting off toxins?_

_Of course!_

Kylo throws up again.

 _Then why aren’t you_ doing _it._

There’s no reply and if not for the sweating and nausea he’d think the connection was lost.  Kylo lays back down on the nice cool floor. Finally, faintly, she answers.

_What do I need to do?_

_Focus. Focus on your blood stream.  Focus on what’s normally there and then find what shouldn’t be there. Then tell it to leave._

_Just “tell it to leave?”_

_Yes.  Or however you put it when you control the Force. You’re going to sweat like crazy and it’s going to smell awful but we’ll get better faster._

_Fine_.

Within minutes, Kylo’s stomach feels better. In half an hour, he’s gained control of his limbs again. He stands up and rinses his mouth out.  He looks like death, his scar livid across his pale face, but he feels normal.

_Rey?_

Silence.  Of course she would retreat immediately. Oh well.  Hopefully she won’t go anywhere near whiskey again for the foreseeable future.

Right.

The shuttle is still in hyperspace, meaning they haven’t yet reached a desirable point to turn around.  He makes his way to the cockpit again.

“Continue to the original destination,” he says.

The pilot hesitates.  “Yes.  Sir.”

“Are you questioning my orders?”

“Absolutely not, sir,” she replies, with just the right note of fear in her voice.

“Good.”

Back in the cabin, he downs two bottles of electrolyte complex and goes back to his datapad.

_Thank you._

So now she speaks.

_Anytime. You know my offer—_

_Don’t press your luck, bantha breath._

And like that, she retreats again, walls up, presence small.


End file.
